A friend of mine who was on tour with a successful road
company of a Broadway musical came up with a play reading night each week. For
the record, most of the cast were early twenties – old enough to vote and go to
war. One week, they read Our Town. No
one in the cast had even HEARD of it.
Recently another slightly older friend told me about a class of actors
he visited where no one knew who Tennessee Williams was. I’d find this last statement to be unbelievable
until an early/mid-career colleague (ie. Someone who should clearly know
better) divulged to me he only knew 2 Tennessee Williams’ plays.
What hubris most people bring to the theatre – even those
proclaiming to love it. An expensive
degree from a theatre school is no alternative to knowing your past. Schools
are meant to teach you to get jobs – like actors, they teach painters how to
paint pretty landscapes that sell. They teach you your ‘type.’ While it’s important
to know what you do, you’re selling the cover not the book… but that’s a whole
other post.
The theatre didn’t start with Neil Labute or Sarah Ruhl,
thank God, it’s been around for a bit
of time. ALL theatre artists need to
know what came before them. When we think of theatre history, we think of dusty
stuff and dates – those aren’t important. What is important is knowing your
roots. Our theatrical roots run deep, and like all roots, it takes some work to
see them, but it will keep you grounded and feeling less like tumbleweed. You are part of a divine lineage if you
choose to be. You’re the new growth on the giant redwood, but you can’t be that
unless you become part of your theatrical legacy. (Yes, lots of saps, pardon the pun, have read
everything and can therefore claim to be a part of the tree, without talent and
action, those are the limbs that get broken off in the first snow storm.)
Find how most every modern American playwright was
influenced by Williams, and then trace that back to his influence by Odets, and
Odets influence by Lawson, and Lawsons influence by the Greeks, and… It will
not only help you understand the play you are working on, it will give you a
sense of place. You’re not a lab rat running from audition to audition, you’re
an artist carrying on a huge tradition. If you are a writer, there is nothing
more valuable than learning from your ancestors. See their innovations, see
their mistakes, and carry their intent forward.
Reading great plays of the past and theatrical
autobiographies will often leave you exhilarated and depressed. Just like you,
they dealt with the same problems. If Maureen Stapleton faced the same
headaches I do, what chance do I have? Yet she did it, made huge triumphs and
lived to tell about it. Her biography is her roadmap. Use it as a guide for
what it is worth to you. Many of our great theatre people, like many great
artists, never knew their impact. Van Gogh sold one painting in his life, yet
he knew his greater mission and studied and researched and turned out 800+
works in spite of his non-existence audience reception. As artists, be ahead of
your time, not wallowing in it.
Redwood trees die, and slowly rot and fade away. Yet, long
after their death, they can still cast big shadows. When they finally topple,
they became fertilizer for the future. Be a redwood, not a tumbleweed.
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